Wings of Blood and Cruelty
by Glamoured By-Eric
Summary: Season 1 of Hemlock Grove left us with a lot of questions. Here is my version of season 2 which gives us something to read while we wait for the official season 2.
1. Chapter 1

**Wings of Blood and Cruelty**

A Hemlock Grove fanfic by Glamoured By-Eric

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._-Friedrich Nietzsche

**Chapter 1 - Revelations**

Christina Wendall twitched, her nostrils flared, and then a scream tore from her dry throat. The embalming fluid that ran through her veins was burning and freezing her simultaneously. Every breath was an effort as she writhed in pain.

_How did I get here? Where am I? Where is my wolf?_

She felt around herself, trying to gauge where she was, and felt the satin lining of her dark prison as she realized she was in a coffin and had been buried alive.

"No!" she screamed. "Help me! I'm in here. Help me!"

Panic settled over her and Christina clawed the satin and screeched over and over again until she could screech no longer.

Still writhing with pain Christina finally lost consciousness only to wake up later to the same predicament. The process was repeated over and over again until she felt the madness set it. Her last conscious thought was that she was no longer Christina but was becoming something else. Something foreign to herself. Something new. Something horrific.

Her body shifted and jerked, using the embalming fluid to make itself over, breaking free of its human form. In the end, Christina was gone, and the creature remaining, was enlarging, snarling, and frothing at the mouth. It looked around its prison with its new eyes and began using its claws to try and free itself.

* * *

Wiping the rest of his mother's blood away from his mouth and lips with the back of his hand, Roman Godrey looked down at his mother's body and the tongue he had just torn from her mouth in disgust. All those years she had been manipulating him, giving him commands that he could not counteract, taking away his free will and his memory of the events. With one word, she had given it all back to him, and if it wasn't for his sister Shelley's words to him from his coma state and his practicing in front of the mirror, he would never have been able to steel his heart against the truth she had shown him.

It sickened him that she had been taking him with her to Castle Godfrey to watch her kill indigents and drink their blood, explaining that was how they had to live. By blood and by cruelty. No wonder he'd had such a fixation with blood.

Her worst crime had been with Letha Godfrey. His dear cousin of whom he had always been so protective.

Olivia Godfrey had played upon his natural affection for Letha and ordered him to impregnate her. She had it all timed out in her mind so that the baby would be born around his eighteenth birthday. She had ordered Dr. Johann Pryce to let Letha die if there were complications. Pryce had given her the child when Norman Godfrey, the child's grandfather, had rejected her.

After he had fucked Letha several times that first night and the succeeding nights, Olivia had influenced him into making Letha believe she had been visited by an angel. As usual, Olivia had gotten her way. He had not even remembered doing any of it until tonight. He remembered so many things now.

To think his evil cuntress of a mother had wanted him to kill his only child from his union with Letha. How could his mother be so cruel after he had just lost Letha, and his best friend, Peter Rumancek, had skipped town? She knew he was hurting. She knew and did not care!

But he was not his mother. He was his own man now free of her machinations. He was, however, something different now, and would have to feed to sustain his life.

Hours passed as he contemplated all the things his mother's command had revealed to him. As he came back to the present, the infant had grown quiet. He moved closer to the Shelley-sized bassinet, looking down at his daughter. Curious, he reached down and stroked her little red cheek and chin, surprised at how soft yet fragile the girl was. Different or not his daughter would live.

Roman pulled his smart phone out of his pocket and selected his lawyer's number.

"Mason and Martel," the receptionist answered.

"Annette. It's Roman. I want to speak to Mason."

Her voice lowered and softened, "Why Roman, where _have_ you been you bad boy? It's been ages. When are you going to stop by again? I really enjoyed... giving you a tour."

"I'll stop by soon, and we can uh... explore your desk more thoroughly," he teased. "Is he in?"

"I'll see if he is available."

"Good girl," he added.

Thirty seconds passed and then Mason picked up. "Roman! It is Mason. What can I do for you?"

"First of all, I need to know that what I am about to say to you falls under privilege."

"Of course, Roman. You can say anything to me, and I will not be able to disclose it."

"Good. I need two things from you. A wet nurse and someone to dispose of my mother's body."

There was a bit of coughing on the other end. "Did you say your mother was deceased?"

"Yes, and in a condition that can't be explained away to the police. Surely you know who she went to before with her specific needs."

"I do know who to contact about that. I will take care of it. As for the wet nurse, I know of someone who might do. She recently lost her baby. I think she would work perfectly for the job."

"I'd need her to live here full time. We'll get a proper nursery set up. Uncle Norman and I are the only ones who live here now besides my infant... cousin. The sooner you could arrange for her care, the better. Norman is distraught over losing Letha, and I am not prepared or experienced with caring for a baby."

With that Roman hung up the phone, stuffed it in his pocket, and picked up his daughter. So tiny. So innocent. If he had anything to say about it, she would stay that way. Roman kissed the top of the infant's head and laid her back down.

"Aletha Michelle Godfrey. You are mine."

* * *

_The wolf padded along the wet concrete of the substructure with his nose toward the ground. There was an evilness whose scent he had picked up and was following. Several rats ran from him, and he gave chase, catching one and chomping down on his bones. The rat squealed; the last sound it would ever make. Swallowing it tail and all, he continued on the trail._

_His eyes glowed in the darkness as he moved along, lighting his own way. The scent grew stronger as he neared his goal. Crouching down, he crawled through a low opening. As soon as he entered, the smell dissipated, and the entryway closed behind him, trapping him in a concrete tomb. He growled when he caught movement at the other end of the chamber._

_"Peter," a female voice called out. "It's okay. It's me. Shelley. I won't hurt you."_

_The wolf moved over to her and licked her hand, sitting down in front of her. She was beautiful in this form, a normal young woman, and he felt drawn to her._

_Shelley knelt down and buried her face in his neck. "I've missed you, Peter. Tell Roman that I love him when you go back. He needs you right now. Hemlock Grove needs you. Something evil has been unleashed there and only you and Roman can fight it. Together."_

_Peter gave a 'woof' of displeasure, and Shelley Godfrey continued as if she understood him. "No, Peter. You have to go back. I know you want to run but you are nearly an adult now and must face up to your responsibilities. I loved Letha too. She was blood as you are blood."_

_Sensing that he was not convinced, she quoted Winston Churchill, "'One ought never to turn one's back on a threatened danger and try to run away from it. If you do that, you will double the danger. But if you meet it promptly and without flinching, you will reduce the danger by half. Never run away from anything. Never!'"_

"Peter! Peter! Wake up," said Lynda, pulling into the gas station as Peter Rumancek jerked awake from his dream. "I'm beat. It's your turn to drive."

"Okay."

Lynda Godfrey put the car in park and turned off the engine, and both of them got out and stretched their legs. It was an old Conoco station with a small mini mart inside. While Lynda gassed up the car, Peter scratched his itching bald head and went into the store. Inside he used the men's restroom. Standing at the urinal, he felt his balls beginning to ache; that feeling he always got when something was wrong. He gave them a squeeze, adjusting them a bit, zipped up when he was finished, and washed his hands. Before he went back to the car, he bought some soft drinks and snacks. Outside, he opened the car door and placed the snacks in the seat between where they'd be sitting again shortly while Lynda paid for the gas and used the ladies room.

Lynda got into the car and said, "Good. You got us some snacks. We're all set then."

"Balls," replied Peter.

Lynda looked at him pointedly and asked, "You've got that feeling again?"

"Yeah, I do," he said lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag.

"What do you think it is?"

Peter blew the smoke out the open window and scratched his head again. He flipped his thumb against his nose and looked at his mother. "We have to go back."

Lynda sighed and said, "We talked about this, Peter. You agreed there is nothing holding us there any longer. Do you want to be put in a cage? You came damned close this time."

"We're not finished with Hemlock Grove or it is not finished with us. Do you think I want to go back? It is a reminder of everything I gained and then lost. My balls are telling me we have to go back."

"I have a bad feeling about this, Peter. Bad."

"I know. My head is telling me not to go but my balls are never wrong. Something has happened to Roman. I know it. He's my friend."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. Before we stopped I had a dream. Shelley appeared to me and told me Roman needed me and something evil would soon be coming to Hemlock Grove that Roman and I would have to team together to fight. We have to go back."

"Okay, baby. We'll go back but we'll keep packed up in case we need to leave quickly."

"Fine with me. I don't think we should stay at the trailer. I can't. Too many memories, and it isn't safe for us there."

"I think your cousin would take us in, Peter. We'll have a place to stay."

"Well, shee-it. Let's mosey on down the road then."

Peter started the car, put it in drive and headed back the way that they had come.

* * *

AN:

If this were an episode of Hemlock Grove, this would be the music I would play through the ending credits as Peter drove back: Imagine Dragons - Hear Me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wings of Blood and Cruelty**

A Hemlock Grove fanfic by Glamoured By-Eric

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._-Friedrich Nietzsche

**Chapter 2 - Regrets**

As Peter and Lynda Rumancek were on their way back to Hemlock Grove, the cleanup crew from the Godfrey Institute had cleared away the blood and Olivia's body from the attic and were driving away from the estate in their van, leaving the overwhelming smell of bleach behind them. Roman watched them go and then headed down the stairs to his en suite and took a quick shower. He dressed in one of the new suits that his mother insisted he have for the current school year and descended the stairs at a quick pace.

In the kitchen, his uncle, Norman Godrey, was sitting at the table staring off into space with a blank expression on his face, a wooden puppet without a puppeteer. "Good morning, Norman," greeted Roman.

There was no response, so Roman snapped his fingers in front of Norman's face a couple of times.

Norman Godfrey looked up at Roman and said, "Roman."

"Good of you to join us this morning," Roman said slowly and deliberately with more than a hint of condescension as he walked to the refrigerator and grabbed the container of cooked bacon, a bottle of apple juice, a jar of mayo, a tomato and romaine lettuce. He set them down on the table nearly dropping the lettuce, walked into the pantry and grabbed a package of croissants. "BLT croissant?" he asked.

As Roman retrieved plates, glasses and utensils, Norman said, "Sure. Whatever you are having."

"BLT croissant it is then," he replied as he dumped a sizable amount of the bacon onto a plate, covered it with a paper towel, and placed it in the microwave to warm it up. Sealing the container and returning it to the fridge, he walked to the table, shrugging off his suit coat and hung it across the back of the kitchen chair. When the microwave dinged, he removed the plate and set it on the table.

Roman sat down, as Norman poured some apple juice for them both, and began assembling their breakfast sandwiches. His thoughts went to Shelley as he arranged the bacon, folding it to fit. His sister would have loved eating all the bacon he had cooked. As it was, he was trying to eat as much as he could before it went bad. Not that he cared that much, since he had enough money to buy out the bacon industry, but it had sentimental value.

"Where's your mother?" asked Norman, as Roman slid a loaded croissant over to him. "She didn't sleep on her side of the bed."

Roman steeled himself as he looked into Roman's eyes and said, "My mother no longer resides here. I sent her packing after a stunt she pulled last night."

"Why didn't she wake me before she left to tell me she was going? That's not like her."

"It was sudden, and you will not wish to question me further about this right now."

"Well, thanks for letting me know. I will speak to you later," said Norman, picking up the croissant and taking a bite.

Surprisingly Roman's nose did not bleed as it had so many times before. _A perk of the new Roman_, he guessed to himself.

They ate the rest of their meal in silence until the front door bell rang. Roman rose and said, "I'll get it. Finish your breakfast."

He opened the heavy door and found a lovely blue-eyed blonde standing there.

"Roman Godfrey?" she asked. "Mr. Mason contacted me. I'm Amanda Eaton. I'm here about the job?"

For a moment Roman could only stare down at her from his considerable height and then he invited, smiling, "Come on in."

Amanda Eaton hesitated, knowing that she was getting a major eye-fuck from Roman, braced herself with a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold. She really needed this job.

Roman led her to the parlor and indicated that she should sit down.

Amanda sat gingerly on the edge of the blue tufted sofa and smiled nervously. Roman sat down on a matching chair across from her and said, "So, my lawyer tells me that you would be perfect for the job. What experience have you had?"

"Well, I've been babysitting since I was about fourteen years old. I was caring for my own child until recently."

"What happened to the baby?" he asked.

A stricken look passed over her face as she replied, "SIDS."

Roman knew what that was. It was always a worry for new parents. "I'm sorry to hear that. Did Mason tell you that I needed a wet nurse? I'd prefer someone who is still lactating to take care of my daughter."

Amanda blushed rosily at his frankness and answered, "That won't be a problem. I was given to understand that the child was your cousin. Is that not the case?"

"She's my daughter and my cousin. I'll be her legal guardian. She's only a couple of days old, and I'm at a loss on caring for her. I was hoping you could help with that."

"Of course. It was also my understanding that I would be living here full time."

"Yes, she'll need round the clock care. Would that work for you?"

She fidgeted with the hem of her dove grey skirt and admitted, "I've been staying with my sister and her husband, but I am just a fifth wheel around there. It is time I moved on from there and with my life. Could I... meet your daughter?"

Roman had a good feeling about her whether it was his cock responding to her beauty and killer body that told him so or just his intuition. He just knew he wanted her there.

"Daughter? What daughter?" said Norman, entering the room.

Roman's eyes bugged out, and he rose quickly to face his uncle. As he caught his eyes, he commanded, "Your grandaughter, Norman. Little Michelle. Amanda and I were just going to meet her. Would you like to come along and see her too?"

"Yes, I'd like to see her too," Norman repeated.

"Good. We're all settled then. Shall we?" He gestured with his arms toward the staircase.

Upstairs they found Michelle lying in the middle of Roman's bed with a pillow to either side of her wailing at the top of her little lungs.

Amanda immediately went to her, picked her up and held her. "She's extremely hungry. Do you mind if I...?"

Roman said, "No, please do."

Amanda quickly sat down on the bed, leaning up against the headboard, and unbuttoned her light grey blouse, pulling down her bra to expose her breast. Fascinated at the sight, Roman noted there was moisture starting to leak from her nipple. She moved the baby to a better position and maneuvered her nipple into the baby's mouth. The baby struggled between gasps of crying but quickly latched on and grew quiet as she suckled. When she was full, she fell asleep, and Amanda readjusted herself.

Norman was standing there with tears in his eyes at the sight of his baby's baby. Noticing the look on his face, Amanda offered, "Would you like to hold her?"

Norman nodded and took the offered bundle into his arms and cradled her. He gasped as he saw the baby's face. "She looks just like Letha when she was a baby. How could I ever say that I didn't care about what happened to her after Letha died? She's... she's beautiful."

Roman felt pride well up within himself even though he regretted and loathed the deceptive way the child had been conceived. He was glad that Michelle was here now to carry on her mother's memory. He pulled his emotions and feelings back inward and looked at Amanda.

"How soon can you move in?"

Surprise and pleasure warred across her face, and she answered, "I could start today. I can pack a few things and bring the remainder during the rest of the week. I have some baby things and diapers that I could bring over. She really needs a diaper change now."

"Whatever you need. Make a list. Money is no object. As for the things you need to bring, I'll send a moving van over. They'll take care of everything," assured Roman.

"Thank you, Roman. I'd really appreciate that. The baby things are in storage, and I really don't need them anymore. You are welcome to them."

"Sounds great. I'll compensate you for their worth. Anything else you feel you need for her care, just put it on the list."

"Who's been caring for Michelle up until now?" asked Amanda.

Roman thought quickly. "Her mother passed recently so she is no longer in the picture. We really don't like to talk about it."

"I am so sorry for your loss," said Amanda sincerely as she watched Norman who had placed the baby back between the two pillows and was just watching her breathe as she slept.

"I appreciate the sentiment. Now let's go look at rooms for you and the baby."

* * *

Acting Sheriff Robert 'Chin' Chinowski walked up the sidewalk to Tom Sworn's home, climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. "Tom, it's me, Chin. Can you hear me? Just want to talk man. We're worried about you. Tom?"

He backed down the stairs and went to the right, checking windows as he went. When he got to the garage, he opened the overhead door. Inside, he went through the kitchen door and into the house. In the kitchen, he noted all the take out bags and dirty dishes, and the smell was overwhelming.

"Tom? Answer me. You here?" he said cautiously as he continued into the living room toward the back of the house. His nose picked up the soldering smell which seemed to be coming from the basement door. When he put a hand on the door, he heard the distinctive click of a gun being cocked.

"I can't let you do that, Chin. Put your hands on your head and turn around slowly," ordered Tom, holding a snub nose .38.

"Hey Tom. Put the gun down, man. Just came to check on you. You weren't answering your door. We've been worried. Not answering your phone or your door, we just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said as he turned around slowly.

"You know, don't you?" said Tom, taking his former deputy's sidearm. "You're here to stop me. Well, it is too late. My path is set."

"What are you talking about, Tom? Too late for what? What are you going to do?" Chin turned his head toward Tom noting his sweaty, disheveled appearance and bags under his eyes. He was rocking back and forth slightly and looked like hell.

"Right, like you don't know. Go ahead, open the door," said Tom, wiping the sweat from his face with his left hand.

Chin complied and started down the lighted stairwell at a slow pace with Tom closely behind. The soldering smell was stronger now as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He was dismayed to see the pile of C4 and wiring on Tom's worktable and looked at Tom in surprise.

"What the hell are you doing, Tom?"

"The White Tower that created that abomination has to go. Can't let that fuckin' shit continue. Too many lives lost."

"Just how many lives to you think will be lost when you set off your bombs, Tom? You aren't thinkin' straight man. You can't do this. Shelley's dead. She can't hurt anyone else."

"Don't bullshit me, dammit! Pryce will just make another. The cycle has to stop. I'm just the man to do it."

"Let me get you some help, Tom. You are becoming what you hated. Don't do this."

"Shut up, Chin! Just shut up." Tom grabbed Chin's handcuffs and twisted Chin's left hand behind him and snapped one cuff around his wrist. Chin elbowed Tom in the face before he could get the other one cuffed, and they struggled violently for a couple of minutes, ending with Chin catching his breath on the floor while Tom ran up the stairs and out the front door. Chin got up and gave chase, grabbing his firearm from the table where Tom had placed it when he disarmed him.

"Dammit!" he swore as Tom took off in his patrol car. Into his radio, he said, "Dispatch. Put an APB out on Tom Sworn. He's lost it. He stole my cruiser, and he's got a basement full of C4. He's planning on blowing up the White Tower. Get everyone on it."

"It's all my fault. I should've checked on him sooner, and I sure as hell shouldn't have left my keys in the ignition," said Chin aloud to himself after signing off.

* * *

AN:

If this fanfic was an episode of Hemlock Grove, this would be the music playing though the credits. UNKLE - When Things Explode.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wings of Blood and Cruelty**

A Hemlock Grove fanfic by Glamoured By-Eric

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._-Friedrich Nietzsche

**Chapter 3 - Resolve**

Finally, I'm free of Olivia Godfrey!

Relief flooded over Dr. Johann Pryce when he gave his practiced smile at Olivia Godfrey's body being delivered to him that morning. No more covering up for her murders. No more dealing with her mind control over him. No more fear that she'd rip him apart with her fangs; flay him like she had Clementine Chasseur. He was free. If only she had taken his memory of all those events but alas, no, she commanded him without erasing his memory. Olivia really should have asked him what the money would be used for before giving it to him. She really should have. His special plants should have given her a clue.

With the mother gone, now he would have to deal with the son who was a young but unknown entity and quite possibly a loose cannon. Even high or drinking, he might be a problem.

Pryce's phone rang from his jacket pocket, and he answered.

"Dr. Pryce? Roman Godfrey. I think you and I should set up a meet to discuss business. I've come into my majority and would like to be involved with the running of the institute. I have to finish out my school year of course. What does your schedule look like a week from Tuesday at four p.m.?"

Pryce's lips pressed thinner, but he managed to get out, "I'll clear my schedule for then."

"Alright. And Pryce? I want a detailed medical report of Letha's delivery and subsequent death. By the way, why did you give the child to my mother when Uncle Norman, Aunt Marie, and I were told the baby had died? I only discovered last night that she was still alive. These are the things that keep me up at night. See you next Tuesday."

Roman hung up, and Pryce nearly dropped his phone with relief.

The child still lives! Maybe my path to hell isn't quite as steep as I thought.

Letting Letha Godrey die and giving the child to Olivia Godfrey were nearly his breaking points. Olivia had ordered him to do it. He had tried not looking her in the eyes but she had grabbed his jaw and held it as she spoke. For such a man of great strength, the powerlessness of his situation after seeing the bloody body of such a beautiful young woman caused him to lose his self control and destroy his glass desk. At least she hadn't ordered him not to do that.

He had no idea what report he could give the Godfreys. He'd have to come up with something.

At all costs, he had to keep his eyes on the prize. His life's work. Ouroborous. His own phoenix rising. Needing to make himself feel better, Pryce went to visit his pet project, walked the length of the room to the shielded maturation chamber, and gazed down into the chamber window.

"Oh Glow Worm. If only you could have been here to see this. It is all I'd hoped for and more. I just need a little more time. That's all I need."

His progeny looked at him with interest and blinked her eyes.

Pryce was content again even though he now knew he would have a battle ahead of him with Roman just when he thought he was safe. That's what he got for being overconfident. If his luck held out and the drugs had worked, Roman might not remember that he had actually seen Ouroborous.

* * *

After their last pit stop, Lynda had taken over driving, and while Peter slept, she passed the Hemlock Grove sign. She hadn't gone very far when flashing lights and sirens came up behind her. She pulled to the right, "Shit! What now?"

Peter jerked awake, looked a bit panicked, hunkered down in the seat and started fidgeting as he scratched his beard. Relief washed over him when he saw the two state patrol cars pass them and head on down the street. Out of curiosity, Lynda pulled out and followed at a slower pace.

"What are you doing, Mom?"

"Finding out what's going on."

They slowed down as they approached Tom Sworn's place and saw the entire police force and a couple of state troopers amassed there. The neighbors on Peter's side of the car were out on the sidewalk gawking at the activity. Lynda pulled over in front of a group standing just outside the cordoned off area.

Peter rolled his window down and asked, "Hey kid. What happened?"

The eight or ten year old kid came over to Peter, carrying a skateboard. "I snuck over there and listened in. Check it. Like the sheriff was making bombs or something. He's in _big_ trouble. This is wicked cool. Way better than when old Mr. Picton left his teeth in his iced tea at the dinner table."

Peter smiled at the boy and said, "Okay, thanks for the 411, kid."

"Hey, no problemo." He lifted his skateboard, dropped it on the concrete, climbed on and took off down the sidewalk, singing, "Bad boys. Bad boys. Whatcha gonna do if they come for you."

Peter turned to his mother, and she raised her eyebrows at him. "Well, wonder what he was planning to blow up."

"Can we go now?" asked Peter, pulling a bit at the crotch of his pants. "I need to stretch my legs, and all these cops are making my balls twitch again."

Lynda rolled her eyes and drove to Destiny's. Once there, they parked around back at the alley entrance and walked into the store. Destiny Rumancek was dressed in a blue tank top and white shorts and stopped dead when she saw them.

"What? What the fuck are you doing here? I thought you left town. Why the hell would you come back?" Destiny ranted. "Do you have a death wish?" She glared at both of them, then softened and continued as if a thought just struck her. "Oh, did you come back for the funeral?"

They looked blankly at her, and Destiny said, "Letha Godfrey's funeral is tomorrow."

Peter looked stricken and swallowed hard. Lynda spoke for both of them. "Peter had a feeling he was needed here. Something bad is going to happen. We just don't know what or when. So, we can't stay at the trailer. Could we stay with you?"

Destiny couldn't stay stern with them. They were kin. "Oh you guys," she said as she crossed to them, and facing them, put one arm around each of them and hugged them around their necks. "Of course you can. I was already missing both of you."

Destiny pulled back a little and ran one of her hands over Peter's close shaven head. "This? I will never get used to. All that beautiful brown hair gone."

"What can I say?" Peter said rhetorically. "I'm in mourning. I felt the need for a change."

"It takes some getting used to, doesn't it?" replied Lynda.

"Not to belittle your feelings, Peter but, yeah, it does," Destiny agreed.

Peter got a little more serious and asked, "When is the funeral?"

"Let me check this morning's paper." Destiny walked over to her counter, picked up the local paper, and flipped through it. "Looks like this Monday, the day after tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. The viewing is tomorrow night from 7:00 - 8:30 p.m. at the funeral home. You gonna go, Peter?"

"What? Like this?" he replied, pointing at his clothing, worn jeans torn at the knees, a Black Sabbath t-shirt, and his black leather jacket.

"I see your point. Well then. We need to go shopping," said Lynda as she looked at Destiny.

Destiny and Lynda said simultaneously, "Second Chances Emporium."

* * *

Norman's cell phone rang as he watched the moving van being unloaded by the men Roman had hired. "Hello," greeted Norman.

Acting Sheriff Robert Chinowski said, "Dr. Godfrey, Bob Chinowski here. I need you at Tom Sworn's place. I know it is the weekend, and you have other things on your mind right now with your loss and all, but he's lost his damned mind. Can you come over? On a consultant basis?"

"Sure, I can be there in ten to fifteen minutes."

"Thanks. I'll fill you in when you get here."

It only took Norman about eight minutes to drive from the Godfrey estate to Tom's place. As Norman took in the scene, he exclaimed, "What the fuck?"

His eyes met crime scene tape, a fire engine, an ambulance and an impressive number of law enforcement vehicles. "Jesus!"

Norman exited his car and walked across the street, trying to catch Chin's eye, noticing the red splotches on the man's face that would be full blown bruises later in the day. He walked toward Chin.

While Chin filled him in on the situation, Roman watched the state bomb squad bring in their equipment to disarm and neutralize the bomb. "Can you give us some insight on what we are dealing with mentally and if you have any intuition about where we might find him?"

Norman replied, "It sounds like the death of his girls has brought on a psychotic break. He's not thinking rationally right now."

"No shit, Doc. He sure as shit isn't. I've known Tom for going on ten years now. Never seen him like this. He was acting strange right after the girls died, but the Tom I know wasn't looking at me this morning."

"As to where he might go. He might want to be near or feel closer to the girls. I'd keep watch at the cemetery. You should also call the institute and have them beef up security."

Two black SUV's and a couple of vans pulled up, and Norman could practically smell Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Chin, noting their arrival, exclaimed, "Damn it all to hell! Which one of you ignernt fucktards called in the Feds?"

One of the state troopers gave a satisfied smirk and then turned away.

"Sorry, Doc. Gotta go. Need to get out my Chapstick and grease up my lips to kiss ass on the big brass. Might as well get out the jelly too and get ready to bend over. Fuckamighty, I hate the Feds. My life just went in the toilet."

* * *

Tom Sworn had confiscated the weapons from the cruiser, hot wired a car, loaded the arms into the trunk, ditched the cruiser and taken off to hide out near the cemetery to be closer to his girls. All three of them. Christina had practically lived with them for years, so he had some part in raising her. She'd been buried not far from Alexa and Alyssa. He'd go visit them after dark. Right now he was just going to watch over their bodies. Somebody had to protect the girls of this town.

Tapping the barrel of the gun against his forehead, Tom began rocking back and forth as he sat in the car. Exhausted from the last few days, Tom fell asleep shortly thereafter despite his resolve to stay awake.

He woke later, as it was getting dark, and mentally berated himself for being so weak as to fall asleep. Grabbing his binoculars, he checked out the area to make sure it was clear, exited the vehicle, slipped his handgun into the back of his slacks and grabbed the rifle and a flashlight. The evening was still except for the crunch of the grass under his feet as he walked toward the girls' graves.

Kneeling down between the two graves, he laid the rifle down and began weeping softly, so softly that he didn't hear the noises at first. He quickly wiped his eyes, picked up his gun and turned off his flashlight.

The rustling sounds were coming from the slightly mounded dirt over Christina's grave. Tom got up and moved in closer to get a better view.

Muffled growls came from underneath the dirt as the flowers atop the grave began sliding down to the side. The mound raised slightly and then caved in on itself. A dark, clawed hand raised up, trying to gain purchase and finding only loose soil. There was another growl of frustration as dirt began flying.

Tom gulped and raised his rifle, pointing it at the figure emerging from the dirt. The claws found their purchase and a head rose up. He should have started firing but instead he removed one hand from the gun and turned on the flashlight.

It was the demon dog that everyone had talked about, except it wasn't a dog. It was a human-sized wolf with ears sticking straight up, light colored fur, perhaps white at one time, now blackened by the dirt, and razor sharp teeth. Saliva and some flesh-colored fluid was dripping from its maw. It's green eyes were bright as they fixed on him, and the creature snarled at him and then howled.

Tom dropped the flashlight, aimed his rifle and fired.

* * *

AN:

If this was an episode of Hemlock Grove, this song would be playing through the credits. David Guetta - She Wolf.


	4. Chapter 4

**Wings of Blood and Cruelty**

A Hemlock Grove fanfic by Glamoured By-Eric

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._-Friedrich Nietzsche

**Chapter 4 - Sweet Escape**

The chunky deputy who went by the handle 'Neck,' still smarting over the fact that somehow Roman Godrey had forced him to eat his own gun, was parked near the entrance to the cemetery, drinking a cup of coffee and munching on a tuna sandwich. He jumped when he heard the shots, causing him to spill some of the coffee into his lap.

"Dammit!" he exclaimed, setting the cup in his cup holder.

Neck grabbed his radio. "Unit three to dispatch, shots fired in the vicinity of the cemetery! I repeat shots fired! Send backup now!"

* * *

Former sheriff Tom Sworn's rifle was empty, and the creature was nearly out of the grave, seemingly unaffected by the bullets.

"Fuck me," he said, pulling his handgun out of the waistband at his back and started running across the cemetery in the direction of the Godrey family tomb, still carrying his empty rifle.

Standing on her hind legs, the werewolf shook herself to shed some of the dirt and turned her eyes toward the retreating man who had attacked her. She hesitated for a moment unsure of whether to give chase on four legs or two. She stretched up on her hind legs, and called out her eerie howl again, with her head to the sky. Lowering her front legs to the ground, she began to close the distance, zooming in on her prey.

Hearing the snarling behind him, Tom didn't dare look back. His heart was pumping fast, making him wish he'd lost about thirty pounds instead of only five, and his lungs felt like they were on fire and weren't getting the vital oxygen that his body required. He felt his legs about ready to give out on him when he reached the tomb... and found it locked.

"Dammit!"

Knowing he'd never make the distance to the sanctuary or his purloined vehicle, Tom did the only thing he could do. Placing his handgun back in his pants, he climbed the nearest maple tree, struggling a bit because he still had the rifle. He'd kept it to use if blunt force was needed.

The werewolf had reached Tom by then and swiped her claws at him as he ascended the tree, hooking one of them onto his boot.

Tom cried out as he felt himself unable to move further. He hooked his remaining leg around a branch and used the butt of the rifle to hit the werewolf. She snarled and then sniffed his leg as some distant memory of another time and place overwhelmed her. Looking up in confusion, yet still smarting from the butt to the head, she pulled his leg down more and licked the skin of his leg that was exposed. Tom hit her again, and she bit him above the boot line.

Screaming at the sudden pain in his leg, Tom hit the werewolf again to try to loosen its grip on him.

* * *

A scream sounded as Neck reached the scene and saw the former sheriff trying to escape the most hideous creature he'd ever beheld.

"Good God! The demon dog," he muttered to himself as he watched the thing latch onto Tom's leg.

When he pulled his sidearm from its holster and fired at it, it hadn't even occurred to him that it might come after him until it was too late.

Neck watched what he had named the demon dog as it released Tom's leg, fixed its gaze on him and snarled. He promptly pissed himself as Tom yelled, "Run, dammit, run!"

* * *

As night fell on Saturday, Roman was sitting in the parlor holding Michelle as she slept peacefully in his arms. He was in awe of his own daughter and how beautiful she was to him. So like her mother Letha.

Norman walked into the room with a sifter of brandy and sat down next to Roman and turned slightly so that he was facing him. "Now that we are alone, would you care to explain to me how Michelle is your daughter, Roman? How could you possibly fuck _my_ daughter, your own cousin?"

Knowing this was coming eventually, Roman's stomach tightened as he looked sideways at the stony face of his uncle. "My mother has this ability, Norman. She can make you do things that you don't want to do and then she can make you forget you have done them. She did that to me and Letha."

He threw Letha in there as well because he didn't want to reveal that he also had his mother's ability.

"Let me get this straight. You are blaming your mother for _you_ impregnating my daughter and having her lie to us saying that an angel was the father? What kind of a fool do you take me for?"

"I'm telling you the truth. My mother isn't what she seems. You can't look her in the eyes or she will take away your free will. She's been doing it to me for years!"

"Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?" scoffed Norman.

"It's true. Every word of it. She only revealed it to me last night, and what those revelations were, made me ill, Norman. I loved Letha; she was my cousin. I've always been protective of her. Yet the past few months, I never knew why I was suddenly so jealous of her with other men, even Peter, until now. It was because we had been closer than I knew, and the thought still sickens me. The only good that came from it was Michelle."

"Roman, I have loved your mother since before you were born. Olivia would never do something like that to me or to you."

"Just how would you know if she had? You wouldn't remember unless she wanted you to."

"She loves me too, Roman."

"Love? My mother doesn't know the meaning of the word. She drove my father to suicide. I was there that night. I saw it. She's sick, so I sent her away. She's gone. She won't be back."

"Where did she go?"

"To hell for all I care. She won't be back."

"I don't know if I can ever forgive you as it stands. If you hadn't knocked Letha up, she would still be around," said Norman.

"You think I don't know that? How that makes me feel? I loved her too. I'll never forgive my mother for this or myself for being too weak to resist her mind control!" Roman castigated himself.

As a thought occurred to him he said, "Ask yourself this, Uncle Roman. What did my mother stand to gain by eliminating Letha from the picture? I can hazard a guess. If, as you say, you and my mother have loved each other since before I was born, then what was keeping you with Aunt Marie? My father has been dead since I was a small child. Letha was keeping you at Marie's side. My fondness for Letha was keeping me from being solely my mother's. Letha was in the way. A threat."

"So, now you are asking me to believe that your mother also orchestrated Letha's death? That's ridiculous!"

"Is it? I wouldn't put anything past her. You never saw how cruel she was with Shelley. Belittling her. Making her cry. You weren't here. You didn't know how she could be. You've seen only what she wanted you to see."

"Here's what I see, Roman. I see a young man that doesn't want to face what he's done and is looking for someone to blame. I think losing Letha has started you spiraling down into a delusional state, and that you should come to the hospital with me for observation until you are feeling more like yourself."

"So what. So you can get custody of Michelle? That's not going to happen. She's my daughter."

"Would you agree to a paternity test so that we can establish that she is yours?"

"Sure. Whatever it takes. But you aren't locking me up with the nut jobs at the freak farm."

"Would you go to counseling if I recommended someone to you?"

"Would that make you feel more comfortable?"

"It would."

"I'll think about it," replied Roman.

* * *

As the deputies and feds arrived at the cemetery, their eyes met a grizzly sight. Neck was lying on the ground with his left arm torn off and his entrails spilling out of his middle. He was still gurgling blood from his mouth when they gathered around him while the rest fanned out in search mode. Neck breathed in his last breath.

A shout of, "Over here," had a number of them quickly following the voice.

Their flashlights found former sheriff Tom Sworn unconscious about a third of the way up a tall maple with blood streaming down his leg. After calling rescue, and with some considerable effort, they had him in the ambulance, cuffed to the gurney, and left for the hospital.

The EMT's noted a pink substance in the wound and took a swab for the emergency room doctor before they wrapped the leg tightly to keep him from bleeding out further before they arrived at their destination. They also started an IV drip to keep him hydrated and kept track of his vitals. Temperature was 99.8 degrees Fahrenheit. Pulse was 72 and regular. Blood pressure was 150/90 mm Hg, and his respiratory rate was 18.

In the emergency room, Tom seized as the doctor's went to work on him. Finally getting him stabilized, they cleansed the leg, obtaining more samples of the substance, sent them to the lab for analysis, and took him to surgery to repair the worst of the damage. After surgery, he continued to have mild seizures which perplexed the medical staff.

Through this all, a bruised Chin gritted his teeth anxiously awaiting Tom to regain consciousness so he could question him, ignoring the government agents milling around the lobby. The medical examiner and the ER doctor both confirmed that the attacks were made by an animal and that the strange substance was found on both Neck's body and Tom's leg as yet to be determined as they were awaiting lab reports.

* * *

Earlier Roman had given Michelle back to Amanda. They were still working on getting the nursery set up so Amanda was keeping her in a bassinet in her room until it was ready.

Roman didn't trust himself to be around her any longer as his stomach was growling with unusual hunger that was making him shake all over and look at his daughter as if she were a tasty side of bacon.

Downstairs Roman was ravenous so he visited the kitchen. Their cook, Conchita, had gone shopping and had stocked the refrigerator earlier that day. He bent over to see what she had purchased. He found himself especially drawn to the bloody meat in the butcher paper much like Peter had in the days before. He sat down at the table, unwrapped the paper and began to lick the blood from the meat. His fangs dropped down, and he tore into the meat, devouring it all in no time at all. Afterwards, he felt sick to his stomach but managed to keep it down.

"Is this my life now, Mother? The blood? The hunger? You should have prepared me instead of trying to control me!" he said aloud to the ceiling as his shoulders shook with emotion.

* * *

Dr. Johann Pryce visited the morgue that night planning to gloat over Olivia's corpse. Much to his surprise, her drawer was open, and her body was missing.

"Well, that's most unfortunate," was all he had to say before he tore the door clean off its hinges.

* * *

AN:

If this was an episode of Hemlock Grove, this would play through the credits. Imagine Dragons - Demons


	5. Chapter 5

**Wings of Blood and Cruelty**

A Hemlock Grove fanfic by Glamoured By-Eric

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._-Friedrich Nietzsche

**Chapter 5 - Intoxicated**

Peter's evening was spent modeling the suit they had purchased so that Destiny and Lynda could pin up the pant legs and the sleeve length to fit him. It was a secondhand Hugo Boss dark grey, stretch wool blend, 2-button suit with flat front pants. They had also purchased him a gently used black leather belt, a pair of black dress shoes, a black dress shirt, and a silky, tie with a handsome striped pattern that complemented the suit.

No sooner had he taken off the pinned up articles and dressed in his own clothes, than he felt it. His balls tightened. Whether it was Roman or the darkness beneath Hemlock Grove, something was very, very wrong.

"Destiny? Can I use your cell phone?"

"Sure, Sweetie. It's on the counter."

"Thanks," said Peter, walking over to retrieve the phone.

Peter dialed Roman's number, and he didn't pick up. Peter grabbed his mom's keys and announced, "I'm going to see Roman."

Destiny said, "Are you sure that's wise?"

"I need to go. Should have gone earlier today. Something's up."

"Okay, but be careful, Honey Bun."

As he turned to leave, Destiny grabbed his arm with that faraway look she sometimes had on her face. "The two divergent life paths have merged. Be wary."

"Uh, okay," said Peter as his mother rolled her eyes, and he disengaged himself from her grip. "I'll be careful."

Peter turned the car onto Main Street and turned on the radio to an alternative rock station. "Bitter Sweet Symphony" by The Verve came on, and he raised the volume control. He hadn't heard that song since he was a little kid. His mom used to listen to it.

He was sidetracked when he drove by the cemetery and saw all the police cars much like he and his mother had seen earlier at Tom Sworn's location. His body betrayed him again as it always did when he was around law enforcement.

_Perhaps this is the source._

He sped up, giving the scene a wide berth.

It took about fifteen minutes for him to drive to the Godfrey estate from Destiny's. He parked out front behind Roman's 1971 red Jaguar and went up the steps to ring the doorbell. He was about to give up when Norman answered the door, holding a bottle of Jack Daniels. It was clear that he'd been drinking heavily, and his next words confirmed it.

"Well, if it isn't the other one who _fucked_ my daughter."

"Uh, I'm looking for Roman. Is he in?"

"He's here somewhere. You are welcome to look. Personally, right now? I don't give a flying fuck." Norman motioned with the hand holding the Jack, and the liquid sloshed around in the bottle as Norman teetered on his feet. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to polish off this bottle."

Norman left the door open as he turned to leave, and Peter walked into the house, closing the door behind him. He decided to check upstairs first, so he walked up the winding stairwell to the second floor and made his way to Roman's room. It was empty. As he turned to go, he heard a baby cry from down the hall and stopped in his tracks.

Somehow he put one foot in front of the other and made his way to the room that the now muffled cries had come from. Through the open door, he saw a blonde woman breast feeding the infant and called, "Letha?"

She turned her eyes away from the baby at the sound of Peter's voice and looked up at him. "Who are you?" she asked.

It wasn't Letha.

"I'm Roman's friend, Peter. Peter Rumancek."

"I'm Amanda Eaton, Michelle's care giver. I just recently started here."

"Michelle?" Peter asked.

"Michelle Godfrey. Roman's daughter. I thought you knew since you are his friend."

Peter walked to the bed and sat down heavily not sure how he'd made it that far. "I've been out of town. I thought both mother and child had died."

"No, she's right here. She's such a beautiful child," she gushed as she readjusted herself when the baby dozed off. "Would you like to hold her for a minute?"

Peter swallowed heavily and raised unsteady arms toward the bundle. Amanda transferred the baby to him, and Peter pulled her close, taking in her scent. Unshed tears shown in his eyes as he looked down at her, making sure she had all her features, and was pleased when she did.

"So, I see you finally made an appearance. You had a tough time getting here, but you made it. Do you remember me talking to you when you were inside your mother and rubbing her tummy for you? You used to wiggle until I found a spot you liked having rubbed."

The tears gently flowed down Peter's cheeks as he continued with a hitch in his voice, "I loved your mother, little one. She was my forever love. How could I not love you too. It was inevitable. Iti dau inima mea, Michelle. Iti dau inima mea."

Amanda looked uncomfortable at Peter's words. When Peter noticed her discomfiture, he said, "It's a long story but Michelle's mother, Letha, was my girlfriend through the majority of her pregnancy."

Remembering Amanda's words of Michelle's paternity earlier made Peter sick. When she still looked uncomfortable, he handed the baby back to her, kissing Michelle gently on the head before relinquishing her.

Straightening up and standing, Peter said, "Thank you for allowing me to hold her. Would you happen to know where I might find Roman?"

"Last time that I saw him, he was heading to the kitchen to get something to eat."

* * *

Chin was taking a piss after his fifth cup of coffee when Nose came hurrying into the men's rest room with some news.

"Sheriff! The lab results are back. The feds expedited the testing."

"Okay, I'll be there in a minute."

When he was finished, he exited the rest room and went down the hall toward Tom's room and the doctor standing there.

"Sheriff?" asked the doctor.

"Yeah, that's me. What you got for me?"

"The substance found in the wound is embalming fluid, confirming what our coroner told us the substance was in your officer's wounds."

"...the fuck. Embalming fluid? How the hell did that get in there?"

The doctor looked pleased with himself, "We think that the animal that bit Mr. Sworn and killed your deputy had been consuming a corpse and had ingested the fluid in the process and then transferred it to your victims."

Nose said, heading for the lined trash can, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

* * *

Peter found Roman on the floor in the kitchen with an empty bottle of whiskey next to him. He was passed out cold and looked like he had been crying.

"Jesus, Roman."

Just as quickly, he balled his fists to keep from lifting him up and beating the crap out of him like he wanted to do. He held his temper in because he needed to hear Roman's side of the story, and hitting someone when they were down was bad form. Instead he knelt down and tried to wake him up, tapping his face with the back of his hand.

"Roman, wake up, man. We need to get you to bed."

"Wha... ? Peter?" he asked in recognition. Then joy and a weak smile crossed his face, "You came back. I knew you wouldn't leave me. You're... what the fuck... ? Your head. It's all kinds of fucked up."

"I'll tell you later. Right now we need to get you to bed. Can you stand up?"

Roman sat up, and the room started spinning. He laid back down and closed his eyes. "In a minute. Spinning. Spinning."

Peter found a trash can under the sink and grabbed it. He knew they'd probably need it.

They managed to get Roman in a seated position when Peter had to grab the trash can as Roman threw up the alcohol in his stomach. With Roman feeling a little better afterwards, Peter was able to get Roman up and to his feet. Peter led him to the lift instead of trying the stairs and managed to get them to the second floor without incident. Once inside Roman's room, Peter got Roman onto the bed and pulled off Roman's shoes, his belt, and also his cell phone from his pants pocket. He pulled up the sheet over Roman and then called his cousin.

"Destiny," she replied.

"Destiny, it's Peter. Roman's pretty messed up. I think I'm going to stay here tonight. Can you tell my mother?"

"Sure, honey. Anything else?"

"Yeah, tell her the baby's still alive. Her name is Michelle."

"Oh goody. You know how I love babies. I can't wait to meet her."

"She looks just like Letha, except she is red and wrinkly. She smells fantastic."

"Okay, I'll tell Lynda. Night, Peter."

"Night," switched off Peter.

Peter removed his shoes and took the other side of Roman's spacious bed. He was too weary to think any further about the way it might look if someone saw them together. Roman had a lot to explain, and he planned to get the truth out of him tomorrow.

He looked at the high ceiling for awhile and then the next thing he knew, it was morning, and Roman was staring at him. Both were on their sides facing each other.

Roman broke the silence as he wrinkled his nose up, "You smell like a mangy dog."

Peter answered, "You smell like booze vomit."

Roman smiled. "So, did someone mistake your head for a lawn? You look like someone used a weed whacker on you."

"Very funny. No. I was in mourning, and it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You stay here all night?" asked Roman.

"Yeah," replied Peter. "You were kind of a mess last night, numb nuts. You would have woken up in your own vomit on the kitchen floor if not for me."

"Thanks, but it was probably more than what I deserved."

They were both silent a moment, and then Peter said, "I met Michelle last night. She's beautiful. How is she still alive? I thought both of them died."

"So did I, but apparently, my mother arranged for her to be brought here without anyone but Dr. Pryce knowing about it."

"Where is your mother? I didn't see her last night. I bet she is happy that Norman is apparently living here now."

"I sent her away, Peter. She won't be coming back. My eighteenth birthday was yesterday. I now own everything, so I sent her away. She can't control me any longer. No one does. Not anymore."

"How was she controlling you?"

Roman looked at Peter as he sat up. "Can I tell you something in the strictest of confidence similar to how I promised not to reveal that you are a werewolf?"

"Sure," Peter answered, sitting up and facing Roman more fully. "But right now I am more interested in hearing how you are Michelle's father."

* * *

AN:

Saint Motel - Balsa Wood Bones would be playing at the end of this chapter.

Iti dau inima mea = Romani for "I give you my heart"


	6. Chapter 6

**Wings of Blood and Cruelty**

A Hemlock Grove fanfic by Glamoured By-Eric

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._-Friedrich Nietzsche

**Chapter 6 - Confessions**

While Roman, Peter and the baby slept, Amanda Eaton had wandered about the house exploring, taking the small baby monitor with her in case the baby woke up. The kitchen smelled atrocious like the bathroom at a college fraternity house during Greek week. She wrinkled her nose, took the garbage can out the back door and, not seeing any place to take it, set it just outside. She went back inside and closed the door. Under the kitchen sink, she found a can of vanilla Glade and sprayed the room thoroughly. Then she washed her hands.

Amanda walked by the parlor and saw an unshaven Norman Godfrey in a drunken stupor stretched out on the fancy sofa, snoring loudly. She shook her head and headed for the winding staircase. She passed the second floor and tentatively went up to the third floor. Her nose led her to Shelley's old room, which still smelled strongly of bleach. There was a huge bassinet covered with a black veil and tall, ritual black pillar candles in a circle around it. In awe of the sheer size of the bassinet, she chuckled to herself that it must have been for the infant of the Jolly Green Giant.

As she looked around at the windows, the floor and the candles, she had a feeling that this would be the perfect place for her ritual as a blood sacrifice had already been made. There was still some dried blood on a few of the candles. Normally, what she needed didn't require blood, but it would only make her effort more productive as failure was not an option. The little Godfrey baby was a nice distraction from her goal, but she didn't fill the void from the loss of her own child. As if listening in on her thoughts, the baby woke and started crying over the monitor, so Amanda left and hurried back downstairs to care for her charge.

* * *

Roman gulped at Peter's words that next morning, thumbed his nose and sniffled loudly. "Well, I don't know about you, but I have to drain the lizard."

After they both took turns in Roman's en suite, Roman stood behind his bar and poured himself a whiskey. "Hair of the dog. You want one?"

"No, I'm good."

Roman downed his quickly. He walked over to his bed, opening the drawer on his night stand, and shuffled through condoms, a tin of Altoids, packets of cocaine and finally found what he was looking for: a bag of rolled joints. He retrieved one and then used his silver lighter from atop the night stand to light it up. He inhaled deeply, blew out a ring of smoke and then passed it to Peter.

Peter braced himself for what was to come by taking a long drag himself and waited.

Roman looked at Peter. "You know how I am able to influence people by staring them in the eyes and giving a command?"

Peter nodded and took another drag.

"Well, my mother could do it too only she's a hell of a lot better at it than me. On my birthday, she took me to the attic where Shelley's room used to be. She had Shelley's old bassinet covered with a black veil and candles surrounding the bassinet in a circle. Fuckin' goth shit. She let me know everything she'd ever had me do over the years with one single world, 'Remember.' Everything I had been doing for her or that she had told me over the years came to me in a flash."

"She ordered me to... fuck Letha, my own cousin, and then to use my ability to make her think an angel had visited her. Then she ordered me to forget. I didn't know... how could I? All I knew was that something was gnawing at me. Tearing me apart. I was jealous of Letha, even with you, and I... Jesus, Peter! She made me hurt Letha! I've been so messed up for months and didn't know why. Acting out shit. Going into these semi fugue states and doing things I didn't remember. Things that I normally wouldn't do."

"I swear, Peter. I didn't know I was the father. I... Jesus fucking Christ! How could I know? I freaked out when I found out Letha was pregnant. I demanded to know who the father was because I was going to kill the motherfucker for touching her. All the time, all this _fucking_ time, it was me!" Roman said, trying desperately not to cry in front of Peter.

Peter was quiet though a pulse in his neck stood out as Roman continued. "Then she wanted me to kill Michelle as some kind of birthday initiation. That's why we were all told the baby had died. She intended her to die. By my hand! My own daughter! I couldn't do it."

"When I found out all of this, it was too much. I tried to kill myself." Roman raised his sleeves up and showed Peter the scars.

"How the hell did you heal so quickly?" asked Peter.

"I died," replied Roman as he watched Peter's eyes get big. "And then I came back as something different. I was healed, but I was more than I was before. I have fangs now when the blood craving hits me, and I've developed a taste for raw meat. One of the things that my mother didn't reveal when she made me remember was what we were. That's all I know."

Peter grudgingly said, "Upir."

Roman looked back at him and said, "What?"

"I think you are upir."

"Upir? What the fuck is that?" asked Roman.

"A type of vampire according to Russian folklore. Did you ever see 'Blade'? It is kind of like that."

"Is there a serum out there that would take away the hunger like it did for him?"

Peter scratched his beard on the left side of his face and replied, "Not that I know of."

"Do I inherit his mad skills with the sword and his martial arts abilities? Those would come in handy," said Peter, trying to lighten the mood.

Peter handed the joint back to Roman who took a drag, then Peter said, "I doubt it, but you might want to practice with your medieval weapon. The only thing I know about upirs is that they are strong and have a mind control ability like the old Jedi mind trick."

"What? 'These are not the droids you are looking for.'" Roman grinned.

Peter responded, "These are not the droids we are looking for."

"Shee-it."

"Shee-it."

Roman was solemn for a moment but then he said, "You want to clock me? I certainly deserve it."

"Nah, like you said. Your mother is a real piece of work. By the way, where is the evil bitch?"

Roman met Peter's gaze without malice and admitted, "I killed her, Peter. I bit her, drank her blood, and ripped out her tongue with my fangs. Maybe her body went to the Godfrey Institute for Biomedical Research. That's where the clean up team came from anyway. I honestly don't care."

Peter's eyes went wide at the same time his eyebrows went up, and his mouth dropped open. "Well, remind me never to piss you off. I like my tongue."

Roman looked at Peter. "I was hurting after Letha died so I had my mother drive me to your trailer. The place was cleared out, and your hair was in the sink. Why did you go, Peter?"

"It is what we gypsy people do. We run. I was hurting as well and leaving felt like a good idea at the time. So, we went. The cops weren't looking too favorably in my direction either which also spurred our decision."

They were content in each others company for a bit when Peter said, "I saw Shelley. In a vision, I think. As we were driving away from here, she was standing by a tree. I blinked for a second and then it was a smaller girl, with longer dark hair. She waved at me."

"You saw Shelley? Both of them?"

"Yeah, I think Shelley is gone though, Roman. We'll only see her in visions or in our dreams. I'm sorry man. I had a dream about her when we were on the road. She comforted me and then she told me to come back here. That you needed me. So, I came. Plus, my balls told me that something was wrong back here in Hemlock Grove."

"Don't tell Uncle Norman that. He'll try to have you committed. I told him about my mother's ability and what she'd been doing all these years. He didn't believe me. Wanted me to go in for a psych evaluation."

"Did you tell him what happened to your mom?"

"Hell no. He thinks he's in love with her. He would have me committed or arrested."

"He's probably in the same shape you are in right now. He was pretty wasted when he let me in."

"I'll bet. He'd just discovered that Michelle was mine."

"I met Michelle and Amanda earlier when I was looking for you. Michelle is beautiful. Looks just like Letha. Mom and Destiny will definitely want to meet her."

"I named her Aletha Michelle Godfrey after her mother and my sister. It suits her."

"Yes, it does."

Roman's stomach growled at the same time as Peter's did, and they both laughed.

Roman suggested, "Let's see if we can find something to eat downstairs."

As they walked to the stairs, Peter asked, "What has been going on here in town lately? There were cops at Sworn's earlier yesterday and then again at the cemetery when I was driving over here last night."

"Sheriff Sworn resigned. Other than that I haven't heard anything. Too busy. Body to hide, nurse to hire, phone calls to make, Uncle Norman to deal with, a nursery to set up... my day was full."

"Do you get the local paper? Maybe we can get a handle on what's up."

"Conchita usually puts it on the kitchen table in the morning when she gets here. Maybe she'll fix breakfast for us if she's in a good mood. We only have to warm up some bacon though."

Peter rolled his eyes as he caught onto the bacon reference and shook his head.

* * *

Dr. Clementine Chausseur's brother Michael had been watching the comings and goings at the Godfrey estate for two days, waiting for his opportunity to avenge his sister's death. According to the Bishop, Roman had killed his sister, and he planned to see justice served.

Michael raised his rifle to sight it properly should Roman emerge. He had a good feeling that today was the day.

* * *

Tom Sworn woke up cuffed to a hospital bed but his head was pounding, and he could barely think straight. As he shook his head, the events of the night before came back to him and he gasped out, "Demon dog. Demon wolf. It was the wolf."

The nurse looked furtively about and then smiled. She had something to report to her reporter boyfriend.

* * *

"Just look at this," said Peter, sitting at the breakfast table and holding the newspaper toward Roman. The headline read: "Two Down in Sheriff's Department."

Roman skimmed the article. "Jesus! Sworn was going to blow up the white tower!"

"Not cool."

"No shit! That's my bread and butter. Oh, and that no neck fat fuck of a deputy was killed last night. His arm was torn off, and he was disemboweled. Not how I'd want to go. They say it was the demon dog who attacked both of them."

"What?" Peter asked and then hit himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand. "Dammit. She wasn't beheaded!"

"Who?"

"Christina Wendall. They buried her. I told you that bad things happen to our kind if we aren't beheaded. Like getting buried and coming back after you died only to find yourself six feet under. If she were embalmed, I can't imagine how... "

"... that would fuckin' suck."

"Yeah. If she has turned, it would be like dealing with a creature who is much larger than my wolf, with superhuman strength, one who could walk on two feet, and who was irrevocably insane. How are we supposed to fight that?"

"With my trusty battle axe," Roman kidded.

"Don't joke," said Peter. "We're going to need some help on this one."

"What help? Are we going to light Wet and throw them at her so she had get her fix?"

"Wet?" asked Peter.

"Yeah, Wet. It is marijuana soaked in embalming fluid. It burns at a slower rate. They call it Wet on the QT. Works like PCP."

"Don't tell me you've tried it." When Roman opened his mouth to say something, Peter said, "Nope. I don't want to know."

Peter continued, "I should probably get going. Thanks for breakfast. We really need to check Christina's grave to see if it has been disturbed though."

Roman pushed his chair back as Peter stood up, and they headed for the front door. Roman walked out to Peter's car with him and gave him a manly hug, breaking away as quickly as he could and putting a little distance between them.

"You're coming tonight?" asked Roman.

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"See you..."

A shot rang out, and Roman dropped silently to his knees and then sideways onto the ground.

* * *

AN:

Ending credits would be Imagine Dragons - Radioactive.


	7. Chapter 7

**Wings of Blood and Cruelty**

A Hemlock Grove fanfic by Glamoured By-Eric

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._-Friedrich Nietzsche

**Chapter 7 - Preternatural**

Amanda Eaton, dressed in a pair of jeans and a light blue blouse that buttoned down the front, was headed to the kitchen for something to eat when she was stopped short by Peter and Roman's conversation.

"Jesus! Sworn was going to blow up the white tower!" exclaimed Roman.

She crept closer as their conversation continued, though she was startled when she heard the chairs shuffling and realized she'd been eavesdropping. Ducking into the parlor and embarrassed over her actions, she was just out of sight. Luckily, she saw that Norman was no longer on the fancy sofa and breathed a sigh of relief.

When Roman and Peter exited through the front door, she went into the kitchen and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge. She selected a slightly green banana from the bowl on the table and set the yogurt next to the baby monitor she had carried with her. She had just gone to search for a spoon for the yogurt, when she heard the gunshot. She faded from sight, reappearing outside behind Peter, gliding in from a slow fade to a solid, and knelt down to see if she could assist.

Peter Rumancek, who she had met the night before, was kneeling down next to the body of Roman Godfrey, her employer. Peter lifted his friend up and began rocking him slowly. There was blood on Roman's chest, close to his heart, and another wound on his back where the bullet had exited. She placed her palm to the back wound. As her hand came in contact with upir blood, she visibly started. Why hadn't she sensed before what he was? He would probably heal on his own but she said softly, "Cneasaigh."

With blood on her other hand, she placed her clean hand on Peter and felt her suspicions of the other night were confirmed. He was a werewolf. These two just might be the allies she was looking for or they could be her ruination. If only she could trust them.

Amanda stood up and scanned the hillside with her preternatural eyes for signs of the sniper and found him.

* * *

Peter heard the shot ring out and saw Roman fall. "Roman!" He hurried to his side and knelt down to join him on the concrete sidewalk, noting the blood on his chest coming through his shirt in an ever widening circle.

Roman managed to say, "It's okay, Peter. I'm ugly. It is what... I deserve."

Peter said, "No man. You don't deserve this. Hang in there. I need you, man. We have a suped up werewolf to kill."

Amanda said from behind him, "Where was he shot?"

"Chest," said Peter, looking back at her. He hadn't even heard her approach. Roman went limp, and his breathing was labored.

She knelt down beside them, placing one hand on Roman's back and the other over his own. She whispered something to Roman, but he couldn't hear what it was.

Amanda stood up and looked around, focusing her attention on something off in the distance.

Norman came running out of the house in his underwear with shaving cream on one half of his face, and joined Peter and Roman on the ground. He felt for Roman's pulse and didn't find one, and Roman wasn't breathing.

He looked at Peter and said gently, "He's gone, Peter. Let him go."

Peter laid Roman down on the cold concrete, as Norman asked, "Did you see or hear anything, Peter? Anything helpful for the police?"

Running the back of his hand across his nose, Peter shook his head, trying to be strong and thinking to himself that he'd be checking the grounds for scents later on. He'd catch the son of a bitch who did this to his friend.

Norman laid a hand on Amanda's shoulder and said, "Amanda, why don't you go inside and stay with the baby. We'll take care of everything out here."

Amanda focused her attention back to the situation and nodded. She turned to go into the house.

A large inhalation of breath came from Roman's corpse, and he blinked his eyes in confusion. Raising up on his elbows, he said, "Well, fuck me sideways, that hurt like hell. My shirt is messed up though. I liked that shirt."

Peter grinned from ear to ear, and Norman just stood there with his mouth wide open in shock.

* * *

With satisfaction, Michael was watching the scene through his scope when he saw a young, blonde woman appear out of thin air behind Roman's friend. She knelt down beside the two and said something, then stood up and slowly yet methodically began looking around the area. He saw her eyes connect with his through the scope, and it sent chills down his spine.

"What the hell are you?" he asked aloud before his eyes went back to see Norman Godfrey arrive on the scene in his underwear. Shortly after that the young man he'd just shot and killed sat up and began talking to everyone.

"What the... how? Fuckin' Addams family shit!"

He quickly disassembled his sniper rifle, packed up his gear and left.

* * *

"I would like someone to tell me how you are walking around on two legs and talking right now when you were clinically dead less than thirty minutes ago," said Norman, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. He stopped and said, "Take off your shirt, Roman."

Roman rolled his eyes, pursed his lips and removed the shirt, tossing it to Norman who caught it deftly. Norman held the shirt up, noting the entry and exit points of the bullet. There was no doubt about it. Roman had been shot and killed.

Norman looked up and noticed not only the lack of a bullet wound but the long, ragged scar across the right side of his chest, ending in a downward motion. "How did that happen?" Then when he also saw Roman's arms. "Jesus, Roman! Have you been cutting?"

"Christ!" exclaimed Roman. "We don't have time for this shit."

Roman walked across the room and caught his uncle's eyes. "I am not crazy. You don't need to give me a psych evaluation. You will listen to what Peter and I tell you with an open mind, and you will not share what you learn with anyone. What we tell you is true. Is that clear?"

Norman nodded.

"Good," said Roman, moving away from Norman. "Now maybe we'll get somewhere." As Roman turned back to Peter, Peter noticed that Roman wasn't bleeding from the nose.

When Roman saw where he was looking, he said, "Yeah, another perk. No more nosebleeds."

"And even bullets can't stop you for long," responded Peter. "I wonder what your Kryponite is now."

"What are you two talking about?" asked Norman.

"Superman, what else," said Roman sarcastically. "No, we were talking about me getting shot, dying, and healing again without leaving any marks on my body. The only marks I have are the scars from cuts I made myself."

"Who would want to see you dead, Roman?" asked Peter. "You can be a fuckin' jerk sometimes but murder?"

Norman asked, "Your father's will. Who stood to gain after you?"

"Well, I believe you were. He didn't leave any stipulations about Shelley, and he didn't want Mother to get her hands on the money after I turned eighteen."

"Well, don't look to me, Roman," said Norman. "I have more money than I know what to do with, especially after selling off my half of the company."

Roman rounded and said, "You did WHAT?"

"I sold my Godfrey Institute shares just a few days ago. Before Letha died."

"Why would you do that? Didn't you think to come to me first? I would have bought you out. Who did you sell to?"

"A company called Lod LLC. You still own the majority of the company though. I thought it was a good move at the time. I've never liked Dr. Pryce. Your mother went with me."

Roman snorted and said, "I'll just bet she did. Tell me, Norman, whose idea was it to sell? Yours or my mother's?"

"Your mother wore me down," replied Norman.

Roman looked at Peter, then said, "She did tend to do that very thing."

Norman said, "I think we need to beef up security around here and hire a body guard or two to ensure this does not happen again. We should probably call Chin as well."

Roman replied, "And tell him what? I was shot through and through and that I came back to life? Right. I'll call Mason and make arrangements for security at the house and at the funeral home. Police will not be involved at this point."

Norman looked at Roman in surprise. He was amazed at how he was taking charge of family affairs and not being the little prick that he could be at times.

"Okay," said Norman. "I'll leave it in your hands. Right now, I'm going to finish shaving and get dressed. If you will excuse me." With his head cocked, he tossed the bloody shirt back at Roman, turned and left the room.

Roman's fangs dropped down, and Peter instinctively moved back in self defense.

Roman said with a fangy smile, "I'm starving."

* * *

Upstairs Amanda was nursing Michelle again and rocking her gently in a rocking chair that Roman had found in storage in the carriage house and dusted off for her. She tickled the baby's cheek as Michelle suckled her.

Once again she found herself privy to her employers' conversation. The other baby monitor was still in the kitchen, a two-way, voice-activated model. As she heard Roman say he was hungry, she turned off the monitor and focused on the baby.

Remembering a song from her youth, she began to sing to the baby in her lilting voice as she continued to rock her gently. She continued until she felt a presence at the door. When she looked up, Norman was there watching her with a strange look on his face.

Norman said, "God, you look so much like my daughter that I could almost picture her sitting there with the baby. I'm going to miss out on that."

Amanda lifted her chin in understanding and asked, "Would you like to hold her? She's asleep now."

"Yes, I would." Norman walked over to them and lifted his grandchild in his arms and sat down on the edge of the bed. "She's so tiny and fragile."

"Yes, she is."

"What were you singing to her just now?" asked Norman.

"An old folk song that my mother used to sing to me."

"What language was that?" he asked as he tucked Michelle closer to him.

"Gaelic."

"Gaelic. Lovely language. I'm glad it is kept alive in song and by other means."

She looked thoughtful and replied, "A lot of the old ways are kept alive by being passed down through the generations. Traditions. Song. Customs. Dance. Surely your family has those as well."

Norman admitted. "We do. Sadly, we don't practice them as regularly as we once did."

"Gifts not used are often lost to us in time."

"Indeed they are," agreed Norman. After a long pause, he said, "Roman tells me that you lost your own child recently. If you would like to talk to someone about it, I'm available. I am a psychiatrist, and it would be my pleasure to counsel you should you need to talk. It would be the least I could do since you are taking such good care of my grandchild."

Amanda swallowed. "I appreciate the offer. I will consider it."

* * *

In his jeep, Michael pulled out his cell phone, moved through the menu and selected the Bishop's number. When he answered the call, Michael demanded, "What have you gotten me into? I shot the motherfucker, and he came back to life. Plus there was this chick who practically appeared out of nowhere, and I swear she could pinpoint my location where I was positive no human eye could possibly see from that distance. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I'm telling you it skeeved me the fuck out!"

"Come to me, Michael. We'll talk further."

* * *

AN:

Credits music would be Trust: Candy Walls.

Cneasaigh is Gaelic for heal.


	8. Chapter 8

**Wings of Blood and Cruelty**

A Hemlock Grove fanfic by Glamoured By-Eric

_Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you._-Friedrich Nietzsche

**Chapter 8 - Familial Difficulties**

Several days ago, Tatiana Vancura was in Venice drinking her espresso and surfing the Internet when she came across an article about the Godfrey gala and began grinning. "Sora!" she said aloud, when she saw Olivia's picture. Then in English, she said, "There you are. Time to pay you a visit. It has been too long."

It took her a few days to get her affairs in order at the villa and to get someone to take care of her menagerie of pets while she was gone. When she finally arrived in Hemlock Grove, she checked into the Hemlock Grove Arms and decided to get the lay of the land for a few days before she made her presence known.

She felt her sister die early one morning and drove to the Godfrey estate only to see what was undoubtedly her sister's body being taken away in a van marked from the Godfrey Institute. She sighed, swearing in Italian, and followed them to the institute.

She parked in the lot and waited. This was going to be fun.

* * *

Olivia Godfrey took in a deep breath as she awoke in cold storage on late Saturday morning. The first thing she did was to make sure her tongue had grown back and found that it had which is why she had taken so long to reawaken. Growing back body parts was not a quick endeavor. She looked around in the darkness, felt around her chilly, stainless steel prison and said aloud, "Well, this is bloody inconvenient."

She lifted her hands over her head, which was difficult in the tight space, and pushed forcefully against the drawer door. It made a pinched noise but did not give one iota. She braced her feet at the back and pushed again, and the door creaked this time. Quickly losing patience, she pounded on it with both palms, and it gave a metallic crunching noise and flew open. She snaked her hands out and grabbed the top of the drawer opening and pulled. The drawer slab slid out, and she pushed and pulled until it was open enough for her to get her legs free. Dropping to the floor on her high heels, she was still in her dress from the night before. She pushed the slab back into the drawer and closed it, repairing the bent handle back into its proper place with her strong hands.

Flipping both sides of her hair back and smoothing her dress, she walked as regally as she always did toward the morgue door and exited the room, which was a feat considering she was a bit unsteady.

She influenced anyone she came into contact with into forgetting that they seen her, and she exited the institute. Having no idea how she was going to get home, she turned to go back inside to call a taxi when she heard a car drive up, and she stopped cold when a voice called out, "Salut surioară. Need a lift?"

* * *

After Peter and Roman chowed down on steak tartar on Sunday, Peter went outside to scout the grounds, following his nose to the sniper while Roman made some phone calls. He found the spot where the shooter had lain, got down on all four and sniffed heavily, filling his nose full of the scent. He crouched along the ground and came upon a pair of shoes attached to jean-clad legs. Looking up, he saw that it was Amanda.

"Oh, hey," said Peter sheepishly. "I was just... what are you doing up here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I think we can safely say that both of us are here for the same reason."

Amanda replied, "Yes, I think we can. You pick up his scent?"

Peter played innocent as he stood up and scratched his chin. "Scent?"

"Yes, scent. You were sniffing the ground just now like a dog. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"No, not really," he said. "But I was wondering why I never hear you coming toward me when you are around. Anything you want to tell me?"

She smiled, shrugged and said, "Just light on my feet, I guess."

A thought occurred to Peter. "Who's taking care of Michelle?"

"Norman. He said he thought I needed a break, so I decided to take a walk up here to see if I could find anything."

"Is that wise considering what happened earlier?" asked Peter.

Amanda shrugged, reached into her pocket and pulled out a shell casing, holding it length-wise between her thumb and forefinger so that she wouldn't leave any prints. "Probably not, but I did find this."

"Sorry, I don't know much about guns other than I wouldn't want to be facing one. Especially from a sportsman," said Peter.

Amanda put the casing back in her pocket. "I also found some vehicle tracks on the grass." She pointed. "Over there."

They walked over to the area, and indeed there were signs that a vehicle had been parked there recently.

"Well, not much to go on," said Peter. "Can I walk you back to the house? I'm heading that way myself to pick up the car."

"Sure," she replied.

* * *

Olivia and Tatiana drove to the Hemlock Grove Arms in silence at first. Tatiana broke the silence.

"Don't you have anything to say to me, sister, after all these years? What has it been? Sixty years or so?"

"How did you find me, Ana?" asked Olivia.

"If you don't wish to be found, darling, you should stay out of the society pages. I saw your photo in connection with the recent Godfrey gala."

"I meant, how did you happen to be here today?"

"I was already in town when I felt your life force cease. I knew that you either had met your final death or were regenerating. I followed the van that took your body and waited so see if you would regenerate. Was it a hand, a finger or an ear?"

"Tongue actually. Apparently, I talk too much."

"Ah, I see. Your son... Roman, is it? He's come of age." She laughed. "I can understand why he removed your tongue. It always was a bit sharp.

Olivia's lips tightened but she did not reply.

Michael stormed into the Bishop's study, walked up to his desk, placing his hands there, leaned over and said forcefully, "What the fuck did you get me into?"

"Interesting," said the Bishop thoughtfully then he gestured with his hand. "Calm down, Michael. Have a seat."

"Don't you tell me to calm down, you holier than thou piece of shit! How could Godfrey get shot in the heart one minute and be up and talking the next? I'm telling you I don't like it! It ain't natural."

"There are things in this world that are even hard for me to explain. I think we are dealing with an upir."

"Upir? What the hell is that?"

"For all intents and purposes it is basically a human-like individual with a taste for blood. They are a little

harder to kill than an average person."

"Blood? You mean like a bloodsucker? A vampire? They are just myths."

"Many myths are based on fact, Michael. You should know that a number of them are based on truth considering your position with the order."

"Then how the hell is he walking around in the daylight if he's a vampire?"

"Upirs are able to blend into society, including being out during daylight hours. I was not aware that Roman Godfrey was upir until today. If you want to settle your score with him on your sister's behalf, then you will need to do one of three things. Decapitate him. Cremate him or impale him with a blessed, wooden stake through the heart."

Michael's eyes bugged out. "You having to be shitting me! Do I look like a medieval knight to you?"

"Ah, but you are a knight. What do you think the order is? We have fought evil since the crusades. It is our duty to understand and protect humans against these creatures. Our duty."

"It might be your duty but it is no longer mine. The last time I saw you, I told you we were done. I was done."

"You gave a lifelong oath when you joined our order, Michael. You don't have the luxury of walking away. We need you. More importantly, we need your skills. But right now I am more interested in this girl you spoke of. The one who appeared out of thin air. Tell me about her. What did she look like?"

Michael gave an exasperated exhale and said, "Medium height with long blonde hair. Very attractive. She was wearing jeans and a shirt. She seemed to just suddenly breeze into my scope and then stared directly into my sight as I looked at her. It was as if she could see me at that distance."

"I'm fascinated. Find out more about her. She sounds like someone we have a special interest in. Take the camera with the telephoto lens. I want to see this girl for myself."

"That is a bit presumptuous of you. Haven't you heard a word that I've said?"

"What kind of life do you think you can have outside the order, Michael? After doing all the things you have done for us, you will never fit into normal society. You are fooling yourself if you think you can. You were made for this life."

"Like Clementine? You saw what that did to her. A high functioning alcoholic who was also questioning the order, she called me recently and told me she had doubts. She was also planning on leaving after this last job for you. Did you know that?"

"I suspected that she was losing her faith. Before you make any rash decisions, take your revenge on your sister's killer, Michael."

The bishop opened a drawer and pulled out a wooden stake, reached across his desk and set it down in front of Michael. "The Godfrey's will be hiring security for their home and possibly for Letha Godfrey's funeral so our little sparrows have told us. With your special forces training, you would make an excellent body guard. You have your 'in' so I suggest you take it."

Michael looked at the Bishop and then at the stake. He grabbed the stake and stuffed it in his inside jacket pocket. "You are going to burn in hell, Bishop."

"Quite possibly," replied the Bishop to Michael's retreating back.

* * *

AN:

Closing credits would be Zulu Winter: Silver Tongued.

Salut surioară is Rumanian for 'hello, little sister.' Sora is Rumanian for 'sister.'

If I was casting the role of Tatiana, I would cast Monica Bellucci as Olivia's older sister. Haven't found the right actress for Amanda yet.


End file.
